


Ten Moments

by Harmony283



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabbles, Gen, M/M, SPOILERS for end of the series, Sherlock/John implications, none of these are really connected, nothing explict though, vague timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 07:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harmony283/pseuds/Harmony283
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"For once in his life John was thankful for routine" -10 Drabbles at various points in the Sherlock-verse. Some take place after the series (such as 1 and 2) but others (such as 4 and 5) can be placed pretty much anywhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten Moments

**Author's Note:**

> After marathoning both seasons of Sherlock recently (and reading more than enough fanfiction), I decided to try my hand at writing it (aka first attempt at fanfiction in a longer time than I'd care to admit) . All of these can be read as separate drabbles, though some (especially the ones taking place AFTER canon) can definitely be connected if someone wants to read them that way. I may end up writing a longer fic eventually with these scenes, but for now this is at least a starting place. 
> 
> Comments/Constructive Criticism is always appreciated!

1\. His hands are shaking when he finally lowers the gun, and somewhere in the back of Sherlock’s mind he’s impressed—almost relieved. Maybe John really _will_ be fine without him.  
  
2\. While most of the news had died down at this point (with a few errant newspapers still printing the ‘scandal that was Sherlock Holme’s death’) John still got a few patients who went eerily, eerily quiet whenever he walked in the room. He wasn’t quite sure if this meant they were judging him, or if they were afraid to say something offensive. Not that it mattered though—he’d simply smile and ask them exactly what was wrong with them today. It was work. Not the kind of work he was used to, granted, but it was normal.  
  
3\. “Don’t try flirting with that one.” Sarah warned when she followed the new interns gaze and saw it land on John (who was busy scrawling something down on a notepad), “You’ll only get hurt in the end. _Trust me_.”  
  
4\. It crossed John’s mind on more than one occasion that his flatmate had odd, and often disturbing habits. The severed head, the eyeballs, the thumbs that Mrs. Hudson found. But somehow over the course of his stay he started to wonder—which one of them was weirder? What concerned him even more was that he didn’t even care.  
  
5\. “You are an idiot!” John snapped for the third time in the last twenty minutes as they ducked into an alleyway, “I thought you said we wouldn’t get _caught_ Sherlock! This is the exact opposite!”  
  
“Is it?” Sherlock asked, breathing just as heavily but somehow more composed than John could manage. “I never would have guessed.”  
  
John made a face and gripped the gun in his hand just a little tighter. It wouldn’t be much with three equally armed men chasing them, but then again they’d faced worse. Much, much worse. John had no reason to be afraid—certainly not now. This was the rush he always looked for, after all. Why would he be scared of that?  
  
6\. For once in his life John was thankful for routine. It forced him to wake up in the morning, walk somewhere, interact with people, fill his day with mindless going ons so that he could spend less and less time in the apartment that he _still_ hadn’t cleaned. If he was honest with himself, he never wanted to. So work it was. Work, work, work.  
  
Until the day Lestrade showed up at the office, a note in his hand. “This was addressed to you.” He didn’t even ask how John had been doing, but then again the answer was obvious. Lestrade had known Sherlock too. He was one of the only people Sherlock was ever remotely close to (as close as he could get to people) how could he _not_ know? “I don’t know why it appeared at our office so I figured I’d stick around until you opened it. Just in case.”  
  
John nodded his head pensively and reached out to take the note. It was only a matter of time before the news of Sherlock’s death spread to each and every single one of his enemies and John? Was fully aware there would be consequences.  
  
Now if only Sherlock were still alive to fix them. Oh right. _He wasn’t_.  
  
7\. “Oh my god,” Molly practically slammed the door behind her when she saw none other than Sherlock-help-me-convincingly-die-Holmes standing on the other side of the laboratory, casually flicking through what looked to be a small notepad. She wasn’t sure if she should be happy to see him again (it was so, so hard lying to all her friends about what had happened), or angry—angry that he’d disappeared so quickly after all she’d done.  
  
She swallowed the emotions and asked—“What are you doing here?” But really what she wanted to ask was: _“Why aren’t you with John?”_  
  
8\. “I should have known you were going to do that.” John half laughed half wheezed when he staggered to his feet. “Really, should have expected that. Good one.”  
  
Sherlock gave him a quizzical look and straightened himself up, “I didn’t punch you that hard did I?” If John squinted he could _maybe_ see concern on his face. Then again, maybe he was imagining things. Either way— _note to self, don’t ever allow someone to punch you in the stomach even if it’s for science_. Because it bloody well _hurt_.  
  
9\. “I’m sorry for the mess,” John apologized, allowing Lestrade to pass by him. “I haven’t really gotten around to…cleaning up yet. You know, busy with work.” That was an excuse and they both knew it.  
  
“It’s been nearly a year, John,” Lestrade turned to look at him, voice as kind as he could manage it. “…You know you can always tell me if you need me to move anything.”  
  
“No.” John shook his head, “That wasn’t why I invited you over.” A pause, “Care for some tea?” _I have a feeling it may be a long night_.  
  
10\. “Don’t worry, I deserved it.” Sherlock cut off whatever exclamations Molly was about to give. The entire left side of his face was bruised and his nose? Broken and bloody. _So much for never going for the nose_. He thought, watching as John made his way back up the stairs to where he was sitting. He wasn’t even looking at him, not that Sherlock expected that either.  
  
Playing dead may have gotten John out of immediate danger, but it by no means ended it. It’s why Sherlock was back after all—and he’d fully pay the price of broken bones if it meant keeping John safe.


End file.
